He Chose The Rogue: The Billionaire Healer's Cold Revenge

"It's about the vibes. Amber needs peace. Your energy is... too intense. You're a healer, always radiating that sterile, clinical aura. It stresses her out."

I felt like I had been slapped in the face.

My power-the healing energy that kept Cornelia's arthritis from crippling her, the power that kept the warriors from going feral on full moons-was now a "burden."

Jackson pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and shoved it in my face.

"I booked you a ticket on a commercial flight. It takes off in three hours."

With trembling hands, I took the envelope and looked at the ticket.

Economy class. Middle seat. Two layovers. It was practically a cargo flight.

"You want the Luna of the Dorsey Pack to fly coach, while a rogue takes my private jet?" I asked.

"She is not a rogue!" Jackson snarled. A flash of gold ignited in his eyes-the hallmark of his inner Alpha wolf rising. "She is an honored guest. And she is... full of potential."

He shot a quick glance at Amber's stomach.

"This conversation is over."

Jackson, I reached out to him through our mind-link. Jackson, please tell me you're not doing this. Tell me you're not humiliating me in front of the pack.

Silence.

He blocked me.

My husband, the Alpha of the pack, had thrown up a mental wall against his own mate. It was the ultimate, silent rejection.

"We have to go," Jackson said, turning his back on me. "Haley, don't be late to the hotel. You'll need to iron your evening gown when you get there."

He walked up the stairs, took Amber's hand, and kissed her cheek. It was a tender gesture he hadn't shown me in years.

The pack warriors-men I had healed, men whose children I had helped deliver-all looked away.

They followed their Alpha. They followed the money. Or rather, they followed the man they thought controlled the money.

The cabin door hissed shut.

I stood alone on the concrete. The acrid stench of aviation fuel assaulted my nose.

The plane began to taxi. I stared at the logo on the tail-the Dorsey Wolf. I was the one who paid the painters for that.

Something inside me snapped.

No, not snapped. Unleashed. My inner wolf, usually calm and pristine white, rose to her paws and shook out her fur.

She didn't howl; she growled. It was a low, deafening vibration that rattled straight to my marrow.

I looked down at the economy ticket in my hand.

Then, I looked at the black American Express card in my wallet.

The card linked to the master trust fund. The very trust fund that financed their private jet, their mansion, their cars, and the food on their table.

I pulled out my phone. The screen was freezing against my cheek.

"Yes, Dr. Hogan?" my private banker answered on the first ring.

"Cancel the flight plan for the Gulfstream," I said.

"Ma'am? They're already taxiing."

"I know. Revoke their flight clearance. Ground them at the first refueling stop. Cut off their credit lines. Cut everything."

"Everything, Dr. Hogan? All accounts?"

I watched the plane lift off and disappear into the overcast sky. "I just remembered a document sitting in my safe-the one Jackson signed in desperation five years ago."

I never wanted to use it. I never wanted to be that kind of person.

But he made me into this person.

"It's all over," I said. "The game is over."